The Guardian
by BlackSwordAvlis371
Summary: Quincy is 17 and a sophmore in high school. She has also suffered from memory loss at the age of 10. When Edward moves into town things become unclear. She'll go on a quest to fight the followers of Under and hopefully recover her memories of who she is.


**Preface**

Quincy's POV 3:17 A.M.- 10 years old

Hah, dreams. . . . mocking me with flashing colors of emotion, pouring down on me like rain only this rain did not make me feel at my highest. This rain was pulling me down, down into the puddle of the emotions around me. Engulfing me. I sink lower into this watery grave that would seem like a safe haven to others. All these colors and the emotions representing them were bring me down to my knees. All these intriguing ideas and emotions were adding up to one conscious emotion. Confusion. I hate it. I hate confusion, it only leaves me with more questions and that isn't good because that means more blinding colors, and I'm not putting up with that. I hate the feeling of being brought down. The rain that was coming down was gradually getting brighter, thicker, and coming down harder. The once puddle was now turning to a sandy like substance making me unable to breath. Brighter. Brighter! The colors now a hungry hurricane brought me down on all fours, whipping at my hair and biting at my skin. Helplessness. That was now the dominant color around me. Now blind from the vividness I curl up in a tight ball, and while having the deep desire to escape I was being buried by the merciless storm. Wake up. . . . wake up. . . . this feeling. . . . wake. . . . UP!

My eyelids, feeling like lead, burdened me from my own eyesight and didn't give me the pleasant feeling of knowing. I couldn't open them even if I desired to, or was it the fact that it was still late in the night? Or morning. Either way, I couldn't see, and I wasn't going to try to sleep again for awhile for fear the storm would be just over the horizon (besides the one making a hissy-fit outside my window). That dream. I don't want to go back to that, that endless state of confusion and helplessness. I will only get carried away if I pry again, and that will lead to bad things. Maybe worse.

What is that? I'm not any dog, but I could feel my protective instincts kicking in. Why? There is something here. I don't know what. I can feel the storm and hear it too, anybody could. The storm itself was needlessly garish and audible almost as if it wanted its existence known, badly. There was something else too. Not a storm, but another presence. Now fully awake I kept my eyelids closed for 30 more seconds so that when they opened they would be adjusted to the black void around me. I kept a steady inhaling and exhaling of breath while making sure that the rising and falling of my chest was steady. Assuming that the thing in my room had eyes. Looking out of the pure instinct and adrenaline coursing through my veins, I searched the room with my eyes in the pitch black sweeping from right to left and going back again. All this time I hadn't moved an inch out of place since opening my eyes because something in the back of my mind was telling me that I shouldn't, and I trusted that little whispering voice, it had gotten me out some serious trouble numerous times.

It didn't work. There was nothing that could be seen when there wasn't any light coming from anything in my shameful room. Why did I cover up everything with light emanating from it before I went to bed? I need to get out some of the weird habits I have; but with sight not on my side I switched to sound. Though that didn't help much considering the hell goin' on outside my window. Thunder cracked and I watched, waiting for the revealing lightening that would unveil my little. . . . _visitor._ It didn't come though. Shameful of my sudden fury of not knowing again; I realized that I should have screamed for help or something. I mean I'm not that stupid to not notify a person of my personal stranger, but my curiosity was flaring something mad and I knew that I was in for it; but I wanted to know! Plus I'm not _that_ helpless. My mind flitted to that horrid dream that was only dreamt moments ago and I automatically shook my head violently, and deeply regretted it. My stranger- when did I own it? Hmm . . . . I wonder . . . . - had shifted its moments and I heard a deep and quick inhaling of breath. Okay I feel better because its human and it won't harm me because it's just another stalker. I have seen a TV sow about them saying that they are too "in love" to harm their stalkeries. What a load of bull. I noted to myself that I shouldn't be relieved in this matter at hand. _CRACK!_ The sudden light show shocked me not only of its suddenness but also the fact that it was completely empty of sound besides the rapping of the rain that was suddenly falling harder. I mean really. I swear it is raining volumes right now!

Red. Violet. Then a brilliant emerald green. Huh, pretty. Eyes maybe? But are eyes able to be those colors? Then I reflected that I too had queer eyes for they were also violet, but with gold flecks in them that created the illusion of movement similar of a lava lamp shaken up once too many. The dance the lightning had performed had now dissipated into nothing replaced by an unwanted soundtrack of thunder that was becoming quite irritable. He- I was quite determined to call it he instead of a she because of his short hair and more of a square-like body- started forward to the side of my bed frame and stood over me making me feel quite the weakling. I started to shake under the covers, but not from the sudden chill that took place over my body. I had a mountain of quilts on me, handmade by Gran who, sadly, wasn't here anymore, to keep my own warmth stolen by the winter. In this case the built frame to the left of me. I cowered into my sheets and curled into a tautly bound ball as He started bending downward. Another flash and this time I noticed that his article of clothing were rather peculiar. He was impeccably dressed in finery consisting of a dark trench coat over a white dress shirt and a black vest, silk maybe, that hung a gold chained watch which seemed to consist of patterns that almost took me into trance until he was but a breath away. Looking up at his face almost made me want to for feel ignominious that I in any write mind would find him attractive. Lattice to say that I had never fallen for a boy or even looked twice at one without a care in the world, but it was quite obvious that he had always been adorned over with his; I have to admit, pretty face. Beautifully handsome really almost like his features were sculpted by the gods themselves. Once the phrase became a thought, I immediately thought of it as unworthy of the man-god in front of me. Though it still had no effect over me; just another face

Being the coward that I'm not I decided to try a few breaths of words, wispy as to not show fear nor attraction or any indication of giving in him. I don't like to lose, fail, or let my poker face slip. I strip all emotion from my face and concentrate on setting my tone at a hushed but authoritive whisper and as much scorn behind it, of course, for my own personal entertainment

"Hello there, I'm Quincy, don't bother telling me about yourself, and now that we've met I would joyously escort you out of the house." saying this put a slight frown on his face. He didn't look any less attractive than before, but it was obvious in his expression that he wasn't accustomed to having this kind of reaction towards him.

". . . get on with it, before. . . trouble. . ." I could only catch bits and pieces of what he was saying as he too was speaking in hushed tones.

"Leave now." A smile played on his perfectly full lips.

"Sorry miss, but I am unable to follow through with that." I could see that his smile was growing broader. He was teasing me!

"I'm _very_ sorry to hear that. So much that it would be a shame for you to leave, but seeing that you are not in a very fine state I would like to ask you to escort yourself out now." A bit if my mask was slipping as I put a hint of sarcasm into the simple phrase which turned it into a hiss towards the end.

"So that seems, so that seems," he answered leisurely, "so as to seeing that you want to rush this I will hasten away." His smile broadened furthermore, "After this!"

I sucked in a desperate and hasty breath to let out one hell of a scream until he pulled up his hand, which were in chaste white/silver hand gloves, to his lips and pulled up his slender but masculine index finger to his lips in a gesture of to be hushed. Automatically and without my own consent my lips shut and I stayed silent as was told.

"Please be quiet young miss, for that would bring mighty troubles upon my shoulders in the happening of you making a slight ruckus."

Who the hell does he think he is? Such a prick! I slowly started to adjust my arms in a motion so that they would lie just below the border of the sheets to the outside. With swift movement and not getting caught and tangled in the sheet thankfully, I thrust my fist forward for once putting "my back into it" to try to make contact to his soon swollen and bruised face. He lifts up his hand again not even flinching at my soaring fist and makes another gesture I'm sure as to mean stop, and I do, just mere micrometers of a millimeter from his face. His despicably refined face that I could spit on. If I ever get my movement back that is. As for my plans, not taking the path that I desire, take a wrong turn again I start to get furious. Not only at this stranger in my room stripping me of both motion and sound, but of myself for being such a weakling against this anonymous annoyance.

"Lie still." He commands though still quietly. I quiver as his tone sends a chill down my spine as he put a volume of hostility behind those two insignificant words that would have been less frightening on a person with a naturally hostile persona. Rather than this prick with alluring looks and a honey tone that voice that feels like a whip being thrashed simultaneously across every part of my bodice when using that particular tone. I wonder if all the girls, or possibly even some guys, that fell for this pile of crudeness got the same treatment. It would surley drive the most passionate to the edge of a cliff

"It seems that she hasn't awakened . . . ." I assume that it was directed more to him than to me. Though to me it seemed like nonsense. What did it mean? "She hasn't awakened"? Does that mean me? What have I not been awakened from? What is this dude who has taken away my freedom of speech and right to bear arms! As stated in the Bill of Rights. My curiosity was starting to seep up on me again as I tried to untangle the mess that has become of my, erm . . . . predicament.

He took out his captivating watch that ticked and tocked with every passing second of the night or morning. Whichever it was.

He placed an unwelcomed hand across my face. Fingertip of his middle finger atop my forehead and the bottom of his palm slowly placed just under my chin. He did this softly enough to almost be a caress of a loved one, though being only a stranger I took it as trespassing my personal space.

"Sleep." He whispers in a musically soft tone suited for not waking an infant or trying to calm and quiet down a deranged person. His single word resonates within my body and takes control of every thought within. _Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep._ It is hard to fight the need to take the sudden deep sleep that was wanted greatly so by my body, which felt like it had aged and gained many years. I prevail, but only for a few seconds which Is just enough to hear the beginning of what sounded like an incantation of a sort.

"_By the power of the great Wielder of Under I grant . . . ." Great Wielder of Under? _That was the last thought I made before I slipped into the eclipse of nothing.


End file.
